For Your Sake, I Became Your Protector
by Constable Remington
Summary: Naruhodo/Mitsurugi Somebody on the kink meme wanted Ace Attorney done Prince of Tennis style. This monster was born. Japanese names -- the reason why should be obvious. I am so sorry.


Naruhodo sighed, setting down the container filled with tennis balls. He'd finished numbering and counting them all, making sure all 131 were there. No doubt his sempai would be angry with him if he'd missed any... and all Naruhodo wanted to do was please the sempai.

Mitsurugi approached him, tennis bag over his shoulder, water bottle in hand.

"Are you finished?" he asked quietly. "...You should come practice swings with the rest of the first-years."

"I know." Naruhodo smiled some. "I have to go get my racquet from the locker room real quick. Will you help me take this?"

Mitsurugi eyed the basket of tennis balls, then nodded. "You get one side and I'll get the other."

The two bent to pick up the basket, but, as soon as they did, a tennis ball flew out from the courts, hitting the side of the basket. Naruhodo gasped, dropping his grip on the basket in surprise. Mitsurugi watched with slight horror in his eyes as the basket fell to the ground, scattering small yellow balls every which way. He was left standing there, limply holding one side of a nearly-empty basket.

"Hey! First-year!" Someone cried. Naruhodo looked up in shock and... was that fear on his face? Fear? Mitsurugi frowned.

One of the third-years (not a regular, and yet just as cocky and irritating as one) strode towards them. Naruhodo looked frozen, staring at the man in shock.

"I'm missing my wallet. And you were the last person in the locker room."

Mitsurugi rose an eyebrow, watching the scene before him. Naruhodo looked terrified.

"I... I was?" he asked, meekly. The man smirked, crossing his arms.

"I'm only gonna ask you once, chibi. What'd you do with my money?"

"I didn't steal your money!" Naruhodo cried. "I promise! You can even look in my bag. I wouldn't steal your money!"

"Oh yeah? I wouldn't be surprised. You're one of those first years who tried out for special spring training. You think you're going to be a regular by the time you're my age? Ha! You make me _sick_." He was fast-approaching Naruhodo, who was shirking back. The man raised his hand towards Naruhodo, and Mitsurugi rushed ahead.

"He didn't steal your money," Mitsurugi said, sternly. "And if you'd like, I can prove it to you."

"Get out of the way, kid! Do you want this to become your problem?!" The older student grabbed Mitsurugi's shoulder, pushing him out of the way. Mitsurugi landed hard on the tennis court, barely managing to keep himself from crying out. Naruhodo gasped, rushing towards his friend, but the third year boy grabbed Naruhodo's arm, twisting it badly. Naruhodo screamed, and when he felt the bone cracking...

It was only a few weeks after the incident that Mitsurugi's father was murdered and he transferred schools without an appearance or explanation at all. The years later brought a lot of work with Naruhodo's arm, and he didn't see a lot of tennis until his second year. He learned to play with the other arm, and his skill was rapidly increasing. Many days, he wondered what the third-year (who had graduated and gone on at that point) would think of him, on the regulars' team in his second year -- far before the man had said.

Many more, however, were spent wondering where Mitsurugi could have gone. The boy had simply... disappeared without a trace.

In Naruhodo's third year, he began to hear many stories about the legendary captain of Hyoutei Gakuen's tennis team... Mitsurugi Reiji.

At Nationals, when the two teams collided, Naruhodo was in Singles 1 -- and so was Mitsurugi.

As the two stood at the net, moments before their match was to begin, Mitsurugi smirked towards Naruhodo, extending his hand.

"Good luck, Naruhodo," he said. There was a pause, and he added, "And watch out for that arm."

The smirk that widened following that statement hardly made it sound genuine. Naruhodo frowned, grasping Mitsurugi's hand in his own, shaking it slowly.

How could Mitsurugi have changed so much?

As the two played the match, Naruhodo learned that Mitsurugi had changed in more ways than just personality in two short years. His play style was sharper and more aggressive -- and it wasn't hard to see why Mitsurugi had never lost a game. Naruhodo played with determination, but getting a point in was hard.

And he was beginning to think that Mitsurugi was playing with intent to keep the match lasting as long as possible -- to... wear out his arm?

And Naruhodo was playing right into that trap.

Towards the second half of the game, that point inevitably came. Naruhodo felt the sharp, cracking sensation of pain shooting up his arm, and he screamed, the tennis racquet clattering against the court.

And as Mitsurugi watched him, he almost felt... guilt. He remembered seeing Naruhodo's accident happen in the first place, remembered how powerless he felt to stop it, how guilt tormented him for weeks afterwards (until it was overshadowed by something more... pressing).

And now he was using the pain he had been incapable of preventing to benefit himself.

...And Naruhodo was standing up, picking the racquet back up with his other arm...

And watching Mitsurugi with a cold, hard gaze.

"It's your serve," he said, quietly.

And the two played on.

"How is your arm?" Mitsurugi asked. His voice came over the cell phone -- the one he'd bought specifically to make calls to Naruhodo while he was overseas, seeking special rehab for his injury.

"It's been good this week," Naruhodo replied. It was early morning in Germany, and he was lying in bed on the cell phone, listening to Mitsurugi's voice and thinking of nothing else. "They say if I keep this up, I can come back soon."

"That's good. But you're still not able to play with it?"

"...No," Naruhodo replied. "No, I... will never be able to do that."

There was a cool silence between them, before Mitsurugi quietly murmured, "Come home soon. I miss you."

And the call was ended.

Seigaku's tennis team was doing training in the mountains when Naruhodo saw Mitsurugi next. It was the first time they'd had a formal match in uniform since Nationals.

And Naruhodo beat Mitsurugi again.

Mitsurugi was more gracious about losing this time. He'd grown, and a perfect record wasn't his foundation any more. For that, Naruhodo was glad. Mitsurugi smiled at him as he left the courts with the rest of his team.

That night, the two met on the courts again -- this time, without racquets. They laid on the court, staring up at the stars. The view was so much clearer than that in Tokyo.

It was quiet. Finally, "...You played well today."

Naruhodo glanced over towards Mitsurugi, and then smiled.

"Thank you. So did you."

Mitsurugi reached over, slowly, his hand brushing down Naruhodo's arm. It stopped at his hand, and his fingers interlaced with the other boy's.

"...I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Naruhodo had his eyes closed -- he'd been so relaxed he almost thought he hadn't heard Mitsurugi completely. Had he just apologized? "For what?"

"...I couldn't stop it from happening to you," he said. "I was right there, and I... I just sat there and watched.

Naruhodo sighed. Mitsurugi seemed to constantly place blame on himself for something.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"If I hadn't mouthed off to him, maybe he just would have hit you and stopped... but I had to make him even more angry, and he..." Mitsurugi looked away, the side of the tennis court becoming very interesting.

The two lay in silence for a long moment.

"You can't blame yourself, Mitsurugi," Naruhodo said softly. "You can't spend your whole life living off 'if's. You'll miss really living if you worry about the past." There was a pause. "Besides, I can still play tennis well enough to kick your ass, and that's worth something."

Mitsurugi smirked softly. "Talk while you still can, Naruhodo. I'll beat you, next time."


End file.
